Life in a Variety of Situations
by T'Ehl'Dzhei
Summary: Fitzsimmons. Pobble 365 AUs.
1. Almost Retired

Simmons stood, perched against the lab table that was once her home. Around her were empty surfaces, poster-less walls, and a general lack of personalisation. Simmons had one hand resting on her bloated stomach. Her hair was pulled back into a rough ponytail that clearly reflected the frequenting haste of her tiredness. Her clothes were wrinkled and she was hardly a picture to be proud of. Despite this, she had a broad smile decorating her matured features as her equally aged best-friend and husband, Fitz, approached her.

Slipping a hand in his, Simmons and the man who had come to be her life, heart, and home smiled at one another. "You ready?" Fitz asked confidently.

She beamed at him, squeezing his hand with her small fingers. "I can't wait for our next adventure," she announced, directly referencing the vow she'd spoken not three years prior.

"God, I love you, Jemma Fitzsimmons!"


	2. Midsummer Station

Fitz hated Summer. It was the worst time of year. The heat and humidity provided him with a coating of damp sweat all day round. Clothes always clung to his body and the outfits he wore consistently felt too thick. His already flustered face never failed to attract the Sun's rays and pasty skin shone a ghostly white whenever he approached the outdoors. Fitz longed for the white winters Scotland would so often provide.

Jemma, too, hated Summer. Despite usually disliking the ocean, she permanently felt the compulsion to launch herself into the water. Imagining the cool splash of the waves over her body was the only way she made it through her long workday. Working in a foreign country, no one ever understood her distress.

So, it made sense, that when these two hard-working, young Brits met each other in line for a fresh snow cone at a 'Midsummer Station', they would hit it off immediately. "I'm melting out here!" Fitz had begun with his comforting Scottish lilt. The sweat trickled down his forehead and his blue eyes radiated through all his paleness.

Jemma had responded in kind, commenting on the various issues with the warm season. She spoke of home and the level temperatures Sheffield in England could maintain. She vented her discomforts and sympathized with Fitz's dislike of the weather. Fitz continued the conversation, shocking himself that he was willing to talk the woman before him without so much as stuttering or fumbling. She was a token of his home and a smile plastered itself permanently on his face.

It wasn't long before the conversation changed tone. They began to discuss their passions and occupations. Noticing she hadn't yet introduced herself properly, she stuck her hand out, curling the edges of her lips up into a subtle smile. "Jemma Simmons, biochemist," she stated, cementing the new topic into the conversation.

"Leo Fitz, engineering," Fitz responded tentatively. He'd always been shy about his name.

Jemma beamed at him and squeezed his hand. "Oh, Fitz! I love it!"

From then on, their conversation revolved around the projects they were designing; forensic drones and non-lethal weaponry. It began with a hot summer and a snow cone at Midsummer Station and ended with our beloved science babies, Fitzsimmons.


	3. Voices From The Stars

The year was 2100. It was only forty-five minutes till the clock struck twelve and Jemma was sat behind her computer counting the seconds in her head. To say she hadn't slept a wink the previous day would be an understatement. She had been working for thirty-two hours straight waiting for another message like the first. Late at night the previous day, a signal from distant space had caused a fluctuation in the recording of radio signals. Jemma had witnessed this anomaly and stayed at work for the day shift and following night shift awaiting a second spike. The message was hard to decipher, the content completely unclear.

It was only as Jemma was beginning to give in to her overwhelming tiredness, that she noticed a slight lift in the strength of the signal received from space. The strength had a general increase, with occasional spikes equally timed apart. Jemma started to notice the pattern of the message; it was one of the classical songs her mother would listen to on occasion. It was Beethoven's fifth symphony; sent on the voyager missions. She'd studied the frequencies of different musical eras as a child. SheRiShe sent a responding signal out in the direction of the incoming signal. She didn't bother to send the message in a different language, only using English.

Simmons: Hello, this is Jemma from Earth.

Having done this, she set the computer to record the remaining signals and collected her belongings to leave.

The next day, at midday, Jemma walked into the observatory and logged into the system to scan the data from the previous twelve hours. Putting the recordings into the computer, Jemma managed to convert the signal to music that she could listen to. There was also a written message.

_: Oh my God! Hello. I need help. Help. My name is Fitz. I worked on a covert mission to find and retrieve the golden record from the Voyager missions. The mission took slightly longer than expected and I've lost contact with my team. I need a route home as soon as possible. I'm beginning to run low on oxygen and fuel.

Jemma had never had such an important task ahead of her. To save a mission. Wow. In her entire career of astrochemistry and side projects on biology, she had not once found something so important. Looking at the signal, she found the point at which it was coming from. She sent out a brief message outlining her rough plan for getting him home. The messages took nine minutes each way, so the conversation was rather slow-paced.

The next day, Jemma had plotted out a map of the route and calculated the amount of power required. He was now on the route and only eight and a half light minutes away.

Jemma: Hi, Fitz! What you gonna do when you get home. How long have you been away?

Nine minutes later, Jemma's computer lit up with a notification.

Fitz: Hello… Jemma, right? I've been away for almost six months. Not too long, but I've been alone. I was able to do some research without the trouble of colleagues, which was nice. It's been a little weird being so far away from everyone. I would die for a good bottle of Scotch or a pub. How's Earth? Any big news?

Jemma was grateful for someone to talk to. She'd always found communication easier over technology, less awkward pauses. At least, with Fitz, if there were pauses, it could be attributed to the long distance. She, too, disliked working with colleagues. Even those in her field struggled to keep up with the endless train that was her thoughts. She was always the odd one out, especially with having skipped two grades of her schooling.

Jemma: Yes, it's Jemma. I understand the frustration of colleagues; I feel the same way. Earth's fine. No president has been shot in the past six months. All is good. What's your field? Surely, Mr. 'Covert Mission' isn't just an ordinary astronaut.

When, nine minutes later, Fitz mentioned his Ph.D. in engineering, the two spoke for hours on end, only eating her lunch in the breaks between her and his messages.

For the next month, the two of them became the best of friends. The knew loads about each other and each of their fields. They'd contributed ideas to personal projects and shared secrets they wouldn't've otherwise spoken. They'd adopted calling each other 'Fitz' and 'Simmons' as Jemma wanted to even out the playing field that was her calling him 'Fitz'. Though, it eventually came to the point where the awkward silence did show; his arrival on Earth. He was to land in the ocean with a parachute and Jemma was to meet him there and help him back into society. Jemma's employers knew about the work of Jemma's and had arranged a team to assist. There was one large elephant in the room, though. Neither of them had seen the other or knew what to expect.

When the day came that Fitz was to land. Jemma was stationed at the landing site. A large lake that was connected to the ocean. Jemma watched as the ship fell out of the sky like a shooting star and created a small tsunami in the lake. She watched as a young man, about her age broke out from the opposing metal construction. From a distance, she could make out his unruly mop of curls that lined his face. He was rescued to shore by a small boat and Jemma ran to meet him.

As she saw his vibrant blue eyes, she gasped. He was beautiful. He had built shoulders and arms but was still skinny enough that he wasn't intimidating. He had shiny straight teeth and a stunning smile. She promptly outstretched her hand. "I'm Jemma," she smiled, hoping her Yorkshire accent wasn't too strong as to startle him.

"You're Jemma?" he responded in disbelief, his elegant Scottish lilt catching her off-guard. Jemma didn't know whether to be happy or upset, though he quickly clarified. "You look stunning, Simmons. Absolutely mindblowing."

Her smile reached from eye-to-eye and she overwhelmed with extensive joy. "Thank you, Fitz. You look incredible too."

Six months later, they were discussing his trip to space when Jemma inquired, "do you ever miss space?"

To which Fitz smiled, his blue eyes shining as he leaned in to place a chaste kiss on her lips. "Who needs space, when I've got something magnificent right here?"


	4. Dry Land

Fitz smiled as he slid down the side of large, shipwreck play equipment. He wasn't a social child, though he did enjoy the occasion let-loose, playtime. The shipwreck was on the side of the beach, designed to enlighten children to another aspect of the world; the sea. The ship was brown with large sails and three masts. He loved to spend his time admiring the engineering of the construction, though usually did this on his laptop due to his social anxiety. Right now, he was alone. No one was there to disturb him, bully him, injure him. He was quite at his leisure.

The hour was late, so few were on the beach, either. It was peaceful hearing the crash of the waves on the dark sand and the sound of his very footsteps on the wood of the ship. This was the case until he heard another sound. A loud creak from the other side of the equipment. Then another creak. And another.

Someone else was here.

It was frustrating, really. That another person should interrupt his quiet moment of bliss. Now he'd have to face interaction; most likely. With another human being. It sparked an internal war of whether to stay or leave. If he hid effectively enough, hopefully, the person would leave. If he sneaked out, hopefully, he could go unnoticed. With the volume of the footsteps increasing, the adrenaline through his veins reciprocated. With no time left to decide, he rolled underneath a sailor's, wooden bunk bed and crossed his fingers.

Just as the footsteps ceased, he heard a young, female voice, "hello?" The girl tapped his shoulder. When he seldom respond, she shook his shoulder. 'Pleasant evening, my ass,' Fitz thought.

Fitz rolled out of his little hiding place and looked the girl in the eyes. She was beautiful, truly. She had hazel eyes and deep brown hair, slightly highlighted from the Sun. She wore a pair of dark blue jeans and a long-sleeve, woolen, blacktop. She was smiling slightly, with a subtle hint of mischief tempting her features. "Who are you?" she asked intimidatingly confidently.

Fitz stuttered inaudibly before centering himself and responding, "Fitz." He looked away, unable to deal with the intensity of his gaze. They were about the same height, she was possibly an inch taller.

"Why are you here?" she inquired, still, confidently. When he didn't respond, she squinted her eyes at him. "There's got to be a reason. Everything has a reason. It's called causation."

He couldn't argue with that. "I like this ship," he responded short and concisely, just as his therapist had told him.

The girl scoffed and stepped back. "That's hardly a reason to be hidden under some pieces of wood."

Fitz snapped to attention. "Pieces of wood?" he asked, his voice higher than usual. "This is a well constructed, exact replica of the RRS Discovery. A famous Scottish ship designed for the Antarctic. It was first built and nineteen-hundred and launched in nineteen-oh-one. This is an educational space. To refer to this masterpiece as a piece of wood is sacrilege."

The girl stepped up to Fitz once again. "To call this a masterpiece is sacrilege. This boat can travel at a top speed of eight knots. It weighs one-point-five-seven-thousand tons and can hold 47 men. This is a lesser-than-average ship," she said, smugly. "I'm Jemma Simmons, by the way," she announced before he could respond.

Approaching from outside the ship came the not-so-hushed tones of their parents. Fitz heard as his mother yelled and the person he assumed was Jemma's mother called, "Fitz! Simmons!"


	5. Fruit City

Jemma scoffed in absolute bewilderment at the task she and Fitz were assigned. No, they weren't, technically, qualified field agents, but that doesn't mean their missions needed to be a joke. "'Fruit City'," she laughed in Fitz direction, gesturing mock quotation marks in the air. "Can you believe they've sent us to a 'Fruit City'?" Fitz laughed, too, understanding the mockery that is sending to very capable agents to a place called Fruit City to retrieve a special plant.

"It's an important assignment; we need that plant for another mission of ours," Coulson assured them with an expression of both frustration and humour as he watched the pair's exchange.

Both of them straightened up and nodded in self-dismissal. The two of them turned around and exited the room like clockwork as they whispered to each other in disbelief.

That evening, Fitz and Jemma arrived at the aforementioned city. It was large, cascading down the hills that made the valley it sat in. Driving down the long winding road that lead to the village, was an unmissable pear. A huge pear. One with a wooden sign donning 'Welcome to Fruit City' plastered to its front. There were a few banana cars and apple cars speeding up the road, abnormally large, also.

Moving into what could be a regular city, weren't it for the various fruits decorating the tall buildings, Fitz spoke in wonder, "Maybe what Coulson's sent us to retrieve is not a fruit at all, but a chemical that allows objects and plants to grow incredibly large."

Jemma eyed him skeptically, "AT-62COL; I see it. It could be a chemical, I guess. We won't know for sure until we find it."

They were instructed to enter a particular building with the shape of a slice of watermelon and retrieve this 'plant'. Jemma was the first to enter said building, as Fitz still stood outside to marvel and the structural integrity of the watermelon. "Oh, Fitz! This is a sight," she sighed happily. "Come on, Fitz!" she cried when he was, still, stood outside.

Fitz waddled in and grasped her arm as he noticed their assignment. She yelped, but followed him regardless. In front of them sat a tomato file cabinet. The key was on the top; like they were told and there was a small letter underneath the key.

'Use carefully, at own risk. Natural compound. Do not mix.'

"Um… Fitz?" Jemma questioned, unsure of how to proceed.

Fitz grabbed the key and slipped it into the hole cautiously. The draw opened to reveal rows of test tubes, much like he would've found in the lab, in an open cardboard box. Fitz lifted the heavy box and looked at Jemma. "You ready?" Fitz asked, hoisting the box into a more comfortable position in his grasp.

Jemma turned around, looking away from Fitz. "Actually, do you mind if we explore a little?"

"The hour is late, Jemma. I wouldn't," he said.

Jemma sighed. "Yeah, but this is such a wonderful place. I want to explore, Fitz, please. Stay the night?"

Fitz smiled slightly at the thought of staying the night in this mysterious place. He walked outside and placed the chemicals into the boot of the car. "Ok, Jemma. Where'll we sleep?"

Jemma drove them around town until they found a small motel in the shape of an olive. "Here," she smiled and they slept a night in the ridiculous Fruit City.


	6. Little Cat, Big Fear

Jemma Simmons loved cats. They were independent, cuddly, intelligent. They were all the companion Jemma could ask for. Her cats always proved to contribute to the most engaging conversations and enlightening debates with her. She consistently won competitions due to her uncanny ability to verbally communicate with her cats. An added bonus was the supreme cuteness of her cats. She had a small, long-furred tortoiseshell cat, a young, soft, ginger tabby cat, and a pair of twin European shorthairs. They were adorable. They were the best. This was, of course, until she met her new neighbour.

He just had to be a competitor. A good one too. He and his damned monkeys nearly always beat Jemma's cats. It was a given that primates would do a much better job of communicating with their owner than felines. Despite this, Jemma couldn't stand the animals. They were messy, stinky, clingy. Everything you didn't need in a companion. How her new neighbour dealt with the things was imaginable to Jemma.

With the next big competition tomorrow, Jemma decided to have a talk with the monkey-lover. She reluctantly lifted herself off the couch and walked out of the flat. Banging on her neighbour's door, she heard a long groan as someone got up. 'Lazy too, eh?' she thought as the door began to creak open. "Hello," she said flatly with a slightly forced smile plastered on her face.

The man behind the door was young, possibly Jemma's age, had light brown curls and bold blue eyes. He looked quite deprived of sleep and had a half-empty beer bottle in his hand. "Hi. I'm Fitz," he grumbled, though his Scottish accent was evident and thick. Jemma assumed this was because of the liquor he'd obviously consumed a lot of.

"Well, hello. I'm Jemma Simmons. I live in the flat just beside you." A ghost of a smile made its way to his grumpy composure.

"You're the crazy cat woman," he said in what Jemma thought was his 'excited' tone.

Although Jemma knew what he meant, she took on a mock-offended expression. "Me? Crazy cat woman?" she smiled. "You've got balls!"

"You'd be surprised, Simmons." He laughed, beaming the most majestic smile Jemma had ever seen, before falling back into his previous pissed stance. "Anyway, I've got some monkeys to train and a beer to finish," he gestured with his bottle. "See you tomorrow."

Jemma nodded and turned back to her flat.

The next day, at the competition, Jemma saw Fitz decorated by his three small monkeys. They were perched on his arms and head, dressed for competition. They were all clothed in blue; Fitz too. It was a surprisingly cute sight. Despite not liking monkeys, Jemma found herself staring at the animals; or, rather, the man with the animals. 'He looks good in blue,' Jemma thought absentmindedly.

Fitz directed his talented animals through the challenging obstacles and around the dangerous spikes. The point of the competition was to test who could control their animals, without touching them, through the course with the fastest speed. It was certainly hard, but Fitz made it look so easy; he needn't even yell. Fitz had three monkeys. This meant that he was owed thirty bonus points. Jemma suddenly realized that it was probably her forty bonus points, for her four animals, that put her ahead of him in most competitions.

Soon after Fitz had complete his run, it was Jemma's turn. She threw Fitz a smug smile as she made her way onto the stage with, not three, but four animals. Jemma's run, like Fitz's, had been flawless. Her time was six seconds slower than Fitz, but she had four animals. So she won.

Back in her apartment, she grabbed made two teas and walked over to Fitz's. She used her elbow to continuously knock on the door until a slightly-more-cheery-than-yesterday-Fitz opened the door. "Um… Simmons?" he questioned, evidently genuinely confused. "Are you alright?"

She lifted the two rapidly cooling teas in her hand. "Oh, yeah, yeah, sure. Come in," he said, moving to the side and gesturing inside his apartment. She walked into his incredibly messy apartment. There were objects, electronics, decorating the floor as if a bomb had blown a factory machine to pieces. The apartment itself was quite nice. The shape was like hers, but the colour was very, beautifully different. The colours of peak sunset were plastered to his walls in a delightful and welcoming fashion. His small, open kitchen was tiled with a stunning marble white that glistened in the natural light from the windows beautifully.

Moving further into the apartment, she nearly stepped on some pieces of wood metal and electronics. As if sensing her discomfort, he began, "sorry, I use those to train my monkeys." He smiled slightly.

"You do?" Jemma asked marveling at his ways. When he nodded, she continued, "I train mine at a young age. When their vocal cords are at a certain length and flexibility, I teach them certain sounds. And when they reach six months old, I do stretches with them to strengthen their flexibility. From then on, it's just practicing moves and communication."

"Oh, really?" Fitz asked with honest curiosity. "I build different things and program them to instruct the monkeys to do things. They slowly get used to my voice and my instructions and start to mimic my voice. Most of my little tools can understand when my monkeys try to speak and it teaches them. Some of the other creations are more for physical training. I use them as an obstacle course, and get the monkeys to train around them."

Fitz directed her into a smaller room; it was the office in her flat. Inside, there was a large woodworking table to the side and a range of machines in the middle. The room was much darker, especially considering the lack of natural light. There were lamps around, but none of them were on.

"So, you're like an engineer?" Jemma asked suddenly.

Fitz smiled. "Yeah. I actually have a Ph.D. in engineering, but I just love monkeys so much, I decided to pursue this career instead."

"Really?" Jemma asked, beaming. She was delightfully surprised. "I have a Ph.D. too!" Fitz smiled. "Well, two, actually," Jemma said tentatively, expecting his face to fall.

His grin only got wider when he said, "always one-upping me, Dr. Simmons."

She handed him the tea, taking a sip of her at the same time. "I guess I am, Dr. Fitz," she said, letting the feel of his name resonate on her tongue.


	7. Nature's Donation

She'd never regretted her decision. To become a biochemist; that was. How could she? Nature had so much to offer. So much it did offer. She never felt regret until today. She had gotten the promotion of her dreams. A new lab. Equipt with anything she could ever dream of. She could design anything she wanted, so long as she made a profit for the company. With two doctorates in her back pocket, it was about time. She was so thrilled when the opportunity came, that when she found out she'd have to work in close quarters with someone for the entirety of her agreement, she hadn't given the idea a second thought, despite her usual distaste of working with partners. They never kept up with her and often disapproved of her ideas claiming she was too young or some shit. It frustrated her.

So, due to her lack of care and attention, Jemma found herself stood next to a grumpy, Scottish engineer. He refused to talk - work talk or small talk. He seemed to make an effect to avoid her throughout the day. He always stayed away from her in the lab and never questioned anything she did. At the end of the day, after she'd finished packing away her belongings, she walked confidently up to the engineer. 'Fitz, right?' she thought. How would she know anyway? He never spoke.

She was behind him as he worked, watching as his unruly mop of curls inclined sideways. He'd sensed her presence. He slowly turned around stepped back into the desk he was just working at. She hadn't noticed their proximity. They hardly even knew each other. Looking at him from such a short distance, she saw the true blueness of his eyes. The shadow of a stubble on his cheeks. The definition of his strong jawline. He was actually awfully attractive. A little pasty, but attractive nonetheless. The slight mutters she'd heard of his home-sickening accent didn't help either.

"Fitz," she greeted flatly.

His eyes finally met hers. "Simmons," he said tentatively. 'Was he scared? Why would he be scared?'

Jemma smiled slightly. "I'll see you tomorrow, Fitz." She thought, if he was anything like her, that it would probably take some time for him to warm up to working with her. She resolved to give him some time. She would give him to the end of the week. If he didn't approach her by then, she would approach him.

Thankfully, like she'd hoped, he did approach her. Eventually. He hesitantly walked up to her. She could feel him move. Hear him. Sense him. In her peripheral vision, she watched him duck his head and fumble with his hands as he mustered up the courage to speak with her. "Eh, Simmons?" His voice was quiet, she had to strain to hear him. "I have an idea, but I need a hand."

She turned around to face him. "What's up, Fitz?" She smiled at him, trying to welcome him. Allow him to feel comfortable.

"I'm building some drones. To scan nature. Identify viruses, diseases, and dangers; smoke. You know. Flood warnings. All of that," his voice lifted as he spoke. "To help people. I, uh…" he trailed off. "I need help with the sensors; scanners," he admitted, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "I don't know specifically 'what' to test to identify anomalies."

"Oh! I'd be happy to help, Fitz. But, I'm going to need your help with something too," she smiled brightly.

For the next week, they'd worked on his project. He'd turned out to be incredibly insightful and intuitive. They'd developed a habit of finishing each other's sentences and knowing exactly what the other needed before they even asked. They'd made a habit of breaking for lunch together and discussing possible solutions to issues over their food. And at dinner, too. Jemma had started to notice the little things Fitz did as he thought, worked, ate. She noticed that he'd scratch his head when he was nervous, that he'd tap his mouth and chin when he was deep in thought, and that he'd wince every time she'd mention home or her parents. It was like fate; as if they were destined to meet.

So soon, came Friday. Lunch came and went. Too busy to care for lunch, they'd continued, hunched over Fitz's desk trying to solve the last flaws and errors in his designs. They'd continued until the time came for their, much needed, evening meal. He'd moved away from her, toward the door and looked at her. He was scratching his neck and he'd looked a little flustered. "Dinner," he'd said, tentatively. She'd nodded, her mind still focused on her current problem before her. "No… dinner," he'd said more forcefully, but still with obvious hesitation.

She'd looked up at him briefly. "Yes, it's fast approaching. I'm sure we'll eat it." She'd unintentionally dismissed him, not registering his distress.

"No, dinner." Now, she looked directly at him, frustration and tiredness splayed across her features. "You and me; maybe we could eat somewhere else…" He paused when she didn't verbally acknowledge his proposal. 'Was he asking her to dinner?' "Somewhere nice," he clarified. 'So he was asking her to dinner.'

Gobsmacked, with a severe lack of anything to say, she opened her mouth to speak and instead, mumbled, "oh." ''Oh'? Really Jemma?'

A flash of a smile spread across Fitz's features. He started backing towards the door, nodding his head in the same direction. Jemma watched his smile grow as she placed the equipment on the desk and followed him. He started to turn around and waited for her to catch up. When she did his smile beamed, brighter than she'd ever seen it before. His teeth shone like a bright neon light. His eyes were a beautiful blue, though they were mostly darkened. Being a biochemist, Jemma knew exactly this was.

Entering the restaurant, Jemma was blinded by the absolute stunningness of the restaurant. Themed by red and gold, the restaurant featured golden chandeliers falling from the ceiling and velvet cloths clothing the tables. The waiter was dressed in a black suit and offered them leather menus as they sat. The place was peaceful and not too-

Jemma was knocked out of her reverie by the cute Scotsman in front of her. "Hey, Simmons!" he called quietly. When she looked at him, he continued, though stumbled over his words, "I just wanted to say thank you… for everything," he paused. "Jemma," he finished, a shy smile spreading across his face. He was her fate; her destiny.

She'd only once regretted her decision. To become a biochemist; that was. Nature had so much to offer. Nature had so much it did offer. She knew so much of nature. Despite this, she'd always perceived nature as the flora and fauna around her. She'd never considered that true nature was fate; destiny. Nature had offered her an amazing opportunity and she'd taken it without a second thought. She was regretful at first, even considering a transfer of some kind. Though, later, she would be thankful for nature, yet again.

Nature had so much to offer. So much it did offer. She looked at the small diamond pendant on the equally small ring circling her finger. So much it had offered. She was forever grateful for nature's donation.


End file.
